Bake Until Golden (The Potluck Catering Club Book #3)

Evans Shepherd Linda, Marie Everson Eva

Description

The ladies of the Potluck Catering Club may have thought that winning The Great Party Showdown reality show in New York City would be the biggest adventure of their lives. But they weren't counting on the strange goings-on they would confront when they returned to Summit View, Colorado. When a shocking event rocks their small town the ladies are stunned--especially when one of them is accused. And a 100-year-old legend about buried gold unearths some unsavory characters. Will old friends stick together through their trials? Or will they be torn apart by tragedy?Full of mystery, friendship, and faith, Bake Until Golden is the final book in this popular series.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 janvier 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441214904
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Potluck Catering Club #3
Bake Until Golden
A Novel
Linda Evans Shepherd Eva Marie Everson
© 2011 by Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
E-book edition created 2010
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-44121-490-4
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
To “Miss Colorado,” who called one day and said, “Hey, Eva! I’ve got an idea for a book . . .” Thank you, friend, for bringing me along for this incredible ride!
What made us friends in the long ago when first we met?
I think I know.
The best in me and
The best in you hailed each other
Because they knew that always and always
Since time began, our being friends was
Part of God’s plan.
—Unknown
Eva Marie Everson
To “Miss Florida,” who answered my call with an enthusiastic, “Let’s write it!” Thank you for traveling this journey with me as it took us from Colorado to New York City. Girlfriend, we’ve had the adventure of a lifetime.
Linda Evans Shepherd
And to all our fans . . . We love you!
Eva & Linda
Lizzie
1
High Altitude Cooking
We were famous. The women of the Potluck Catering Club were nationally and even internationally recognizable. Six ordinary women from Summit View, Colorado—a small town near Breckenridge—had been catapulted from stirring up homemade soup on cold winter days and putting in our hours at our typical jobs to signing autographs, being featured on magazine covers and interviewed on talk radio and television shows, and presenting awards at glittery, star-studded galas. And how it came to be was a story in itself.
Of course, we have to give Lisa Leann Lambert, newest member of the potluck prayer group—or, the Potluck Club, as we’ve always called ourselves—her “props,” as students at the high school where I’m the media specialist like to say. Because of our collective culinary skills, Lisa Leann came up with the idea to form a catering business and then, by some stroke of either genius or madness, her son Nelson entered us as contestants for the reality show The Great Party Showdown , where we came in first place. The grand prize was a million dollars (a million dollars!), which we intend to use for a variety of things for the catering business but mainly to aid in our church’s building renovation and—shall we call it—“salvation” program.
“Renovation” in that the old building was in dire need of some restoration—things like new boarding, new insulation, and some additions to the youth wing. “Salvation” in that, according to our beloved pastor Kevin Moore and my husband Samuel, Grace Church was going under financially.
“It’s heading directly for bankruptcy,” Samuel confided to me several months earlier. Samuel was on the finance committee and would know. “A real sign of our times, I’m afraid.”
Our winnings would keep this from happening and would allow for the expansion. I was especially pleased knowing the youth building would be a recipient of our hard work and wild escapades while in New York City filming the show. It had been quite the journey.
How were we to know that weeks later, we’d see it as only the beginning of an exhausting road that would lead to murder.
———
Upon our return to Summit View—after filming in New York City for weeks on end, being interviewed across the country by a variety of radio and TV talk shows, newspapers, and magazines, being photographed ad nauseam, and being the belles of the ball at other miscellaneous events—we were honored with a parade and a dinner at the church, where we were the guests of honor. And we were going to be guests on Daystar’s Denver Celebration television program—the final three within one short week.
It was nearing the end of September, and the weather was still a little warm. Lisa Leann insisted that we always wear our signature pink bib aprons when on television and for most photo layouts, but what we chose to put on under them was up to us. Wanting to stay cool—as I seem to run hot in this blessed stage of life I find myself in—I chose a Max and Cleo V-neck shift dress in pale yellow with three-quarter cuffed sleeves I’d purchased at Macy’s on 34th during some of our downtime in New York. I’d not had a chance to wear it yet, and I hoped it looked as sharp and sassy on me as it did on the department store mannequin.
My husband seemed to think it did. “Wow,” he said, eyeing me. “Wow,” he said again.
Standing in the center of our bedroom, I twirled before him, feeling the soft material of the dress slink around my slender form. “You like?” I asked with a wink.
“Wow.”
I dramatically allowed my shoulders to droop. “You have a wider vocabulary than that, Samuel Prattle, and don’t tell me you don’t.” I pointed at him as I squared my shoulders. “I’ve been married to you for far too long to think any differently.”
In his sixties, Samuel is still good-looking by every measure of the word. His hair has silvered and thinned, and the skin around his eyes has drooped a little, but the sparkle of those baby blues can still melt me even on the coldest of Summit View days. “How about wowzer?” He moved toward me like a cat on the prowl.
“Back away,” I said, laughing. “I’ll be late if you try to start anything I can’t finish.”
He was hearing nothing of it, instead pressing me toward the edge of the dresser. “Where’d you say you were going?” He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck. “You smell too good to be around other males, I’m thinking,” he added with a laugh. “I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”
I pushed him away with the palms of my hands against his broad chest. “You know good and well where I’m going. To the Daystar studios in Denver. They’re doing an interview.” I feigned snobbery as I said, “We’re such stars , you know. That’s why we’re on Day star .”
“Har-har.” Samuel walked over to the bed and sat, then pulled his dress shoes from where he’d left them the night before. He was nearly dressed for work—crisp white shirt tucked into dark belted pants and finished with a complementary tie. All he had left to do was slip his feet into the leather loafers, grab his suit coat, and head out the door. “What I want to know is what in the world can you say in this interview that you haven’t said in all the others?”
I reached for a pair of gold small hoop earrings lying on the dresser and slipped the post of one into the tiny pin-sized hole in my left ear. “Well, for one, this is a Christian station. Which means we can talk about God a little more openly. No worries that we’re going to be censored.”
“Sounds fair. I hate the way that network anchor made you look after the win, as though it seemed so odd that your catering business began as a prayer group.”
I finished with my jewelry then stepped over to the closet for my dress sandals. “She was just doing her job.”
“Still . . . she’s too liberal for me.”
I laughed lightly as I slid my feet into my shoes. I moved to where my husband looked up at me from his perch on our bed, kissed him on his forehead, and said, “Me too, but I’m sure she’s a good person. See you when you get home this afternoon.” I pointed up with my right index finger. “Oh. Corned beef and cabbage for dinner tonight, your favorite.”
“I’ll come straight home then,” he said with a wink, then his face sobered. “I’ll be praying for you today, Liz. Call me when you’re done.”
“Will do,” I said from the door. I blew him another kiss and then was on my way.
———
The girls and I decided to meet at our catering shop and then drive in to Denver together. “No need to waste gas by taking six cars,” Evangeline had said. “Lizzie, your car should be big enough for all of us.”
I’ve known Evangeline Benson Vesey nearly my whole life, and I can lovingly but honestly say she’s always been bossy. She also carries with her a sense of pride about coming from Summit View, and is rich in knowledge concerning its landmarks and its history, including its gold mining legends and myths.
“There’s no way you’re stuffing me into one SUV with the five of you,” Donna Vesey, Evie’s stepdaughter and our youngest member, said. “It’s two vehicles or I’m not going. Besides, four in the back means we’ll break seat belt laws.” Donna was the deputy sheriff to her father, sheriff Vernon Vesey.
“Donna’s right,” Vonnie Westbrook said. She smiled at Donna, who’d been like a daughter to her ever since Donna’s mother, Doreen, abandoned her and Vernon to run off to California with Grace Church’s choir director. Donna had been only about four at the time. “It’s a good thing David and Wade are both stuck at work or we might need three cars.”
I watched Donna pink at the names of the young men who had been part of our team in New York. Feeling her discomfort at the mere mention of their names, I quickly added, “I agree with Vonnie.”
Evie pouted, but in the end we took two cars: Evie’s and mine. We arrived in Denver with just enough time to be welcomed by the receptionist, escorted into the green room by the producer, and briefed as to what to expect. A half hour and a cup of coffee later we were arranged on the chairs and sofa of the rich, elegant studio set. We’d gotten to be old pros at hearing the banter of the cameramen with the producers and hosts, understanding the cues. Settled in, we waited for the “In three, two, one . . .”